


in the spell of the night

by MelikaElena



Category: The 100
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6834901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pro's: The guy who lives down the hall that Miller's been crushing on is, right now, naked, using Miller's shower, because his own broke.</p><p>Con's: It's because said guy has a date tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the spell of the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [residentdelinquent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/residentdelinquent/gifts).



> Based on this prompt: “My shower’s broken but I’ve got a date tonight could I possibly use your shower please?” “Oh sure (neighbour that I’ve been crushing on for the past six months) of course you can use my shower to get ready for your date (fuck fuck fuck)”
> 
>  
> 
> Happy Birthday, Divi! Thanks for being super awesome. I hope you had a wonderful day :)

It’s Friday night, and Miller is deeply entrenched in, his opinion, the Perfect Friday Night. After a positively excruciating day at work, he’s already in his favorite pair of sweatpants and worn t-shirt, has ordered pizza from his favorite place, and is drinking his favorite beer while watching  _ Pacific Rim.  _ In a moment of truly inspired thinking, he dragged his favorite pillow and blanket off his bed and made himself a little nest on the couch; that way, if he fell asleep there, he’d be comfortable. Unless he had to go to the bathroom, Miller had made his home on the couch and wasn’t planning on moving (except, perhaps, for the pizza.) 

 

So when a knock comes at the door about thirty minutes later, he’s only (minimally) grumbling as he swipes his wallet off the counter to go tip the delivery guy. 

 

A fiver in hand, he blinks as he opens the door to someone who is very much  _ not _ the pizza boy. 

 

“Hey, neighbor,” is what Miller’s greeted with, accompanied by a sheepish smile and an awkward wave. 

 

It’s the guy in 6C, right down the hall. He and Miller have spoken a few times, just small talk in the elevator or by the mailboxes, but nothing too significant. The guy in 6C also happens to be who Miller’s had a pretty pathetic crush on for  _ ages _ , probably since he overheard him arguing on the phone with someone about the implications of the Star Wars canon now that Episode Seven obliterated the Expanded Universe. Not to mention, he’s cute as hell. 

 

“Hey,” Miller says, feeling a little self-conscious in his faded college volleyball t-shirt and sagging Nike track pants. He can feel them sagging low on his hips, and while he  _ does  _ have pretty great hips, if he does say so himself, he doesn’t want the pants to slip  _ too _ far. After all, he isn’t wearing anything underneath (it’s Friday, he wants to be comfortable and unrestricted. Give a guy a break.) “What’s up?” 

 

“Um,” 6C rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, making his dark fringe fall forward into his eyes, and Miller’s hands twitch with the urge to reach up and brush it away. “This is really awkward, but I don’t know who else to ask, and, like, out of everyone I know in this building I feel the most confident that you’re not crazy, so…” 

 

Miller raises an eyebrow. 

 

“My shower’s broken, but I have a date tonight, so could I possibly use your shower, please?” This is said in a rush, and Miller feels the drop in his stomach once he processes the words. 

 

“Um, yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” Miller says, but the guy is still babbling--

 

“I’ve called a plumber, but they can’t come until tomorrow, and I had a really rough day at work, so I just--” 

 

“Listen, man,” Miller says, unable to the smile curving his lips, despite the stab of disappointment he feels keenly, “don’t worry about it. Not a big deal at all.” 

 

6C smiles. “Great,” he says, “um, I’m just gonna get my stuff and I’ll be back in a sec?” 

 

Miller shrugs, hoping he doesn’t look as despondent as he feels. “No worries. I’ll leave the door propped. And, uh, if you see the pizza guy, send him this way.” 

 

His neighbor laughs. “Will do,” he says. Then he sticks out his hand. “I’m Monty, by the way. Monty Green.” 

 

Miller shakes it. Damn, this guy has nice hands, though. “Nathan Miller,” he says. “It’s good to finally meet you.” 

 

Monty grins, dimples showing, and Miller thinks,  _ oh, shit. _ “You, too,” he says. 

 

* * *

 

The thing about Monty Green that probably depresses Miller the most is that he’s straight.

 

Listen, he doesn’t want to be accused of heteronormativity, but the thing is, more likely than not, Monty Green _ is  _ straight, and Miller has the Evidence to prove it. 

 

What he’s learned about Monty Green in the year since he’s been his neighbor is that he’s a sociable guy, always having friends over, and you don’t have to be a stalker to notice the relationships between them all. 

 

There’s one guy, goofy, skinny, and pale, who is clearly Monty’s best friend (and probably the guy he was arguing about Star Wars with, if we’re being honest.) He comes around a lot, usually carrying Settlers of Catan under one arm and a pack of beer under another. There are a few other guys, too, but Miller can tell that they’re Just Friends as well. Thus far, he hasn’t seen any guys with Monty who  _ don’t _ look platonic. 

 

Then there’s the girls-- there are a few girls who come around regularly. There’s an objectively cute blonde with a beauty mark and usually a scowl, who looks intense, quite possibly like she’s plotting to take over the world. She’s just a friend, as is a pale girl with a cloud of dark hair, who is actually, now that he thinks about it, probably the girlfriend of the nerdy best friend. 

 

But there’s one girl, with long, honey blonde hair and who looks at Monty under fringed eyelashes like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen, who comes around a lot, too, and she is the girl Miller has seen Monty kiss in the apartment parking lot. 

 

So, yeah, Miller’s going to assume, with all of the Evidence before him, that Monty Green is Into Women, and probably not Into Guys. He doesn’t even like to say  _ probably _ because that would imply that there’s hope there, and Miller’s had enough of that bullshit in high school, thanks, getting mixed signals from guys who either were just really friendly, but hopelessly straight, or guys who might’ve been queer but weren’t ready to act upon it. Miller is Too Damn Old for figuring out someone’s sexuality; it’s not his damn job and he doesn’t make a secret of his own, so he figures when the knowledge is out there it’s up to the other person to make a move. He’s also Too Damn Old to be lying awake in bed at night and bemoaning a boy he’s never had a chance with in the first place, but here he is. Fucking pathetic. 

 

When Monty leaves, Miller’s tempted to change his clothes, but he doesn’t want to seem like he cares, so instead he goes to put boxers on under his pants. When he gets into the living room, he tidies up, folds the blanket and puts it under the pillow, and then goes to make sure his bathroom situation is okay. Luckily, after years of living with Bellamy Blake, who is a consummate neat freak, Miller got into the habit of cleaning his apartment regularly, so the bathroom looks clean and neat. 

 

Monty comes back as Miller’s exiting the bathroom, and Miller jabs a thumb back towards it. “Just wanted to check to make sure everything was clean,” he has no problem admitting. 

 

Monty smiles, shower supplies in hand. It’s like college all over again. “I appreciate it,” he says. “I won’t be long; I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” 

 

Miller shrugs. “No worries,” he says. 

 

Monty thanks him again as he goes into the bathroom, and Miller can hear him undress as the shower runs. He shudders; all of the sudden, he realizes what a grave error he made in allowing Monty in. Everything about this situation is dizzyingly intimate, and Miller, though happy living alone and being single ninety percent of the time, feels a pang of loneliness, of wistfulness. He dates, he gets laid, but he hasn’t been in a relationship in a couple years. He misses the companionship, the snuggling, the constancy of another person sharing your life. 

 

The pizza comes as Monty showers, and even if it smells heavenly, Miller can’t be as excited about it as he was when he ordered it. Maybe he should eat and go out tonight, call Bellamy and Murphy up and see what they’re up to. Being alone doesn’t sound as appealing as it did before. 

 

The bathroom door opens and Monty comes out, in the process of putting on a shirt, and Miller’s mouth goes dry at the sight of his sharp collarbones and his pale, lean torso, a couple dark moles dotting his abs that Miller wants to cover with his mouth and  _ suck  _ at. “No plans tonight, then?” Monty asks cheerfully, oblivious to Miller’s suffering as he towel dries his hair. 

 

It all feels so domestic that Miller wants to throw something at the TV in frustration that Monty isn’t  _ his _ . (Charlie Hunnam is on-screen right now, also drying himself off, but who cares about that? What’s in front of him is way better, and that’s when Miller realizes how deep he’s in.)

 

“Nope,” Miller says. “Nothing yet.” 

 

“Whatcha watching?” Monty asks, padding barefoot in nice, dark wash jeans and a sky blue polo, through Miller’s apartment. Miller tries not to watch him too intently, give away too much. “ _ Pacific Rim _ ?” He beams in approval. “That’s one of my favorite movies!”

 

_ Of course it is. _

 

“Yeah,” Miller says, “mine, too.” 

 

Monty looks at the TV longingly, and Miller almost asks him to join, but-- “What time’s your date?” 

 

“Oh,” Monty looks at his watch. “Soon, I guess.”

 

Miller blinks. “You guess?” 

 

Monty shrugs. “Eh, it’s a blind date,” he admits. “It’s been a while and my best friend Jasper is worried about me, so I’m humoring him. We’ll see. Jasper  _ claims _ he knows my type, but I feel like that only applies to girls. When it comes to guys, he’s pretty clueless. But we’ll see how this guy pans out.” 

 

There’s a roaring in Miller’s ears as he processes what Monty’s saying. Monty Green is Into Women, yes, but he’s… also Into Men. Holy shit. “You’re bi?” Miller asks, then, after realizing that he said it out loud, frantically wonders how best to throw himself off a cliff at the rudeness of the question.

 

Luckily, Monty takes it in stride, although his eyebrows scrunch a little and he bits his lip. To his credit, when he answers, his voice is calm and confident. “Yes. Is that..?” 

 

Miller says (sputters,) “No, no! That’s totally fine, honest. God, that was so rude of me, just asking like that, I’m sorry. I just assumed you were straight. Again, sorry. I mean… I thought you had a girlfriend.” He wonders if a kaiju could just come crashing through his window right now and eat him whole. That would be a great alternative than continuing this conversation. 

 

Monty, to his relief, laughs. “No, I mean, that’s fair,” he says, his smile small and secretive. “I  _ did _ have a girlfriend for a bit. Harper. But she-- honestly, I think she was more into it than I was. And that wasn’t fair to her. But I haven’t felt the need to uh, date in a while, So here we are.” 

 

“Yeah,” Miller shrugs, “I get it. My friends worry, too, but they know better than to try to set me up on blind dates.” 

 

“Oh, yeah?” Monty says. “Doesn’t go over so well?”

 

“I don’t really have a set type,” Miller says, “not, like, in the physical sense, anyway. So they mean well, but I only really trust my own instincts on what kind of guys I like.” 

 

Monty’s biting his lip again, and Miller knows he wants to ask what kinds of guys Miller likes, but he’s holding back, and Miller doesn’t want him to.  _ Stay here,  _ he thinks.  _ Don’t go on that date. Stay here with me.  _

 

“That’s…” Monty clears his throat. “That’s good. That you know what you want and you go for it.” 

 

Miller shrugs, the moment broken. “I do when I think I can get it.” And right now, that doesn’t look possible. 

 

“Thanks again,” Monty says, “for letting me use your shower.” 

 

“No problem,” Miller gets up off the couch to see him out. “I, uh… maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.” 

 

“We’ll see,” is all Monty says. “See you around, Nate.” 

 

“See you,” Miller echoes, before closing the door. He frowns. “Nate?” 

 

He hates that he likes it. Too much.

 

Just like the guy who said it.

 

* * *

 

Two beers later,  _ Pacific Rim _ is long over and Miller’s flipping channels aimlessly. He knows he’s a little off when he stops on PBS of all things, and starts watching what he thinks is a murder mystery show featuring an Anglican priest. It sounds incredibly far-fetched, but it’s really the only semi-plausible explanation Miller can come up with, and he’s not  _ that _ buzzed. Plus, the priest is pretty hot. 

 

He put on a hoodie and took off his boxers (because, who the fuck cares,) and he’s curled up on the couch, hood pulled up, blanket over his head, like a cocoon. When he hears a knock at his door again, Miller isn’t even entirely sure he could get up to answer it, even if he  _ wanted _ to. It takes a couple tries, but he eventually untangles himself from the blanket and gets up, sweatshirt riding up and pants riding low. Whatever. He’s too out of it to care. 

 

Standing at his door, take out container in his hand, is Monty Green. He looks at Miller and his eyes get big. 

 

“Hey,” Miller blinks. It feels a little like deja vu. 

 

“Hey,” Monty says. “I, uh… I didn’t wake you, did I?” 

 

Miller shakes his head, then looks at the clock. It’s only 11. “Didn’t expect to see you again,” he says. “Date didn’t go well, huh?” 

 

Monty shrugs. “The guy was nice. I’d even met him before. He’s a friend of a friend. And well, I think  _ we’re  _ friends now, but nothing more.” 

 

“Ah,” Miller says. 

 

“Anyway, I, uh, figured you had dinner and beer, but you probably didn’t have dessert,” Monty held up the container. “So I got you some. To say thanks.” 

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Miller says, even as he takes the box. He can’t even imagine how that went over during the date-- Monty ordering dessert at the restaurant for  _ another guy _ . Or maybe he stopped at a different place and got it. Miller’s gonna go with the first scenario just because it makes him feel better.

 

“Any allergies?” Monty asks anxiously. “I figured you can’t go wrong with chocolate--”

 

“No,” Miller says, unable to resist flashing him a wicked smirk. “You really can’t.” 

 

To his surprise, Monty flushes. “That’s probably what Jasper-- my best friend-- thought, too,” he said. “But, uh, if we’re, um, speaking-- not in generalities, obviously-- but specifically… what I got tonight was dark chocolate, and, um, I’m more into milk chocolate.” 

 

Miller has the sudden and absurd urge to tear his sweatshirt off. He’s burning up. “Yeah?” 

 

Monty ducks his head down. “Yeah,” he says. 

 

“I didn’t even think, you, um,  _ liked _ a certain brand of, um, chocolate.” He’s mixing his metaphors, here, but Miller figures it’s definitely a more delicate way to handle this than the way he did earlier. 

 

Monty looks up. “I figured,” he admits. “That’s uh, partly why I decided to ask to use  _ your  _ shower, instead of someone else’s. So I could, um, somehow make it clear that I like  _ multiple _ brands of chocolate.” 

 

Miller licks his lips. “Well,” he says. “Do you wanna come in? Chocolate is always better when you share it.” 

 

“That is true,” Monty confirms, stepping inside. 

 

“Uh-huh,” Miller says, setting the dessert down on a nearby counter. “It really is.” 

 

They reach for each other at the same time, both _ finally _ on the same page. The kiss itself, in the beginning is a little awkward; the angle’s not quite right at first-- their teeth clang together, and their noses bump-- but then there’s that delicious shift, when things slot into place, and the awkwardness fades away into pleasure. Miller’s hands tangle in Monty’s hair, palms large enough that he’s half-cradling his head, while Monty’s hands drift down to Miller’s jutting hips in the sliver of skin peeking out between the band of his sweatpants and his sweat shirt. Monty’s thumbs press into Miller’s hips, and, on instinct, Miller jerks towards him, hissing against Monty’s mouth. In retaliation, Miller bites down on Monty’s lower lip, and Monty’s thumbs, now tracing little circles on his hips, falter. 

 

“Bedroom?” Monty gasps. 

 

Miller, already buried in the hollow of Monty’s neck, nods. “Bedroom.” 

 

Monty stumbles away from the door, and Miller, reaching around behind him, slams it shut. 

 

Now  _ this _ , Miller thinks dazedly as he becomes more deeply entrenched in Monty, is truly the Perfect Friday Night. 

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact, y'all, monty was set up with WELLS JAHA, who, in my mind, is bi (because who looks at Bellamy Blake the way he did and can call themselves straight???)


End file.
